by Joe Carter
I’d actually seen Frank once before, but only briefly, by chance, when I was with Ray at a garage forecourt. Frank had pulled up to fill his car with petrol as we drove off. We’d nodded at each other, but no more than that.
On the day of the trade, I had the money in the boot of my car. Ray directed me to park at one end of the car park, as he had spotted Frank’s car at the opposite end. I casually got out of the car and retrieved the money from the boot, taking my time. I looked over and saw somebody sat in the driver’s seat of Frank’s car. It was too far away to see exactly who it was, but it was definitely his car. I got back into the driver’s seat and handed Ray the money. He told me to wait for him and I watched him walk across the car park and get into the passenger seat of Frank’s car. I just relaxed and waited for him to come back. I was supremely confident in my head that if this transaction passed problem-free, Frank and myself would be doing regular criminal business in the future. I made no attempt to get closer and lay eyes on Frank, nor to insist that I take part in the trade. I wanted to make out that four and half ounces of cocaine was only a small trade that I wasn’t overly bothered by.
Ray came back with a brown envelope and he said that the gear was inside. I took it off him and put it in the boot. Ray said that Frank was happy that we’d got this first one out of the way, and maybe now we could relax a bit. He also said that Frank would be out on Friday night and that he and I could have a chat and get to know each other a little better. I told Ray that I was willing to give anything a go.
I dropped Ray off and then went to meet Dave and the team. They were all very excited about the purchase. This was a fantastic opportunity to obtain some concrete evidence against Frank. I presumed the team had been busy themselves this afternoon, videoing the transaction or keeping Frank under surveillance. But I could see the mood change when I asked if the team had experienced any problems or issues with Frank that afternoon. Dave’s shoulders slumped as he explained that I’d been on my own out there this afternoon. The bosses had been so paranoid about a compromise that they had insisted there was no coverage whatsoever, and they’d relied totally on me.
I was less than impressed. The times I didn’t want a surveillance team, they insisted on having one, even if it potentially put my life in danger. When it would have been hugely beneficial to have one – to evidence Frank’s movements prior to and during the meeting with Ray, and afterwards to track the movement of the money – they didn’t bother. I really couldn’t understand their thought process.
I looked at Dave and said, ‘Let’s keep our fingers crossed that there are future trades with Frank, because the evidence isn’t fantastic on that one.’ Dave just shrugged his shoulders. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I needed to vent my frustrations to someone. Dave then confided to me that a decision had been made that it was far too risky to deploy the local surveillance team against Frank again. It would be a matter of trying to beg, borrow or steal a surveillance team from another force if we needed one in the future.
I left the team feeling a little bit deflated, but I wasn’t going to dwell on it. I met up with Emma and we went out to our favourite Chinese restaurant. We enjoyed a few drinks together as she filled me in on her day. She said she never really stopped in the shop, and she was fed up with the sound of the bell chiming, which meant that she had another customer. She did impressions of the young white men who came into the shop and did their very best to talk like Yardie gangsters whilst they sold her their ill-gotten gains. She was more than a measure for these thieves, and never allowed them to walk all over her.
I explained the situation with Frank and told her that he would be out on Friday night so she would have to be aware of him. Emma insisted that if we were together she wasn’t in any way concerned. As we finished our meal and drinks, I realised that it had been exactly what I needed to deal with the stresses of the day.
On Friday, Emma and I met up with Ray and Chloe at a quiet pub in town before we went on to the main bar where everyone would be. Ray had phoned me the day after the trade and told me that Frank was pleased with the way that things had gone and he would catch up with me for a chat at the bar.
The pub was full of locals, and our attendance caused quite a stir, particularly as Ray had parked his car in the tiny car park at the rear. I asked the middle-aged barman for a bottle of champagne and four glasses. I noticed that he had extremely lank and greasy hair and tried to be polite. He took a bottle of Moët off the shelf behind him. It looked like it had been there for a year or two. He looked at me and said, ‘Would you like it chilled?’
I was a little bemused by the question and thought I’d throw it back in his court. ‘Rather than what?’ He certainly wasn’t expecting that and he didn’t answer, so I continued: ‘If you mean rather than drinking it lukewarm, then yes I certainly do want it chilled, very much so.’
In a broad local twang, he said, ‘We don’t have much call for champagne in these parts.’ We felt like all eyes in the pub were on us, and I had now made that situation even worse by ordering champagne. Still, we managed to have a laugh about it and I convinced Ray to move his car, as the locals knew it was his motor and I didn’t trust them not to scratch it. After finishing our drinks, we all got into Ray’s car. He drove us as close to the second bar as he could and then parked his motor there for the night.
The bar was mobbed, and as we made our way through the crowd I saw that Mario and his gorgeous girlfriend were there. I had already had numerous apologies from Mario for his behaviour last time we’d had a night out, but he still insisted on telling me every time I saw him – and tonight was no different.
We all decided that the easiest way to get drinks tonight was to buy bottles of champagne, and Ray said that he knew the manager so he would negotiate a deal. He came back to me and seemed to have sorted a generous discount on the bubbles if we bought six bottles. I was sure that amongst us all that would not be an issue.. Ray then shyly whispered to me that it was a little embarrassing, but he only had a bullseye on him. He asked if I could sub him £200 until Monday. I gave him the cash discreetly so no one saw. He was very grateful, and promised that he would have it with me first thing Monday morning.
It was really difficult to hear what anyone was saying and we were shoulder to shoulder. As we were spending a lot of money, the bar manager gave us a space at the corner of the bar, much to the disgust of other customers. It wasn’t long before Ray brought Frank over; we shook hands and I thanked him for helping me out a couple of days before. I told him that the four and half had filled a gap for me and he’d done me a favour. He said it was no problem and told me that Ray spoke highly of me. Our conversation skirted around any specific details of the previous trade, though it was enough to confirm that he had supplied the cocaine. But the main purpose of the evening was to settle Frank down and make sure that we were both happy to conduct criminal business in the future.
I was happy with our chat and could see that he was comfortable with me. I didn’t feel the need to stay in his company any longer than was necessary, so I politely mingled with other people. Ray had a beam that was bigger than ever on his face when he came over. ‘I told you that he was OK – I knew you two would get on.’
Emma and I had a few more drinks, but we had achieved what we needed to and I didn’t want to prolong our stay. I had a quick word with Ray before Emma and I quietly slipped out of the bar and into a taxi home. It was late by the time my head hit the pillow and I was asleep before I knew it.
I woke very early the next day, and popped out to grab the Saturday paper and some breakfast. I knew that I wouldn’t get any notable conversation or enthusiasm from Emma until she had finished her first cup of black coffee, which she had to drink from her bone china cup and saucer, so I left her upstairs to finish that whilst I read the back pages of the paper and enjoyed the weekend peace. I then spoke with Dave on the phone, and filled him in on my encounter with Frank. He was more than happy with the outcome and felt that it w
as a step in the right direction. The next step was going to be a very important one, and Frank and Ray played an integral role.
I had put Dave in contact with my boss, who had released me to work on this operation, to try and arrange some help with surveillance so that Frank wouldn’t recognise the team that was following him. Dave had arranged this, and their services were utilised on a day when Ray was doing some business with Frank.
Ray had phoned me to ask if he could borrow a ‘bag of nails’ (set of scales) from me, as somebody had not returned his. He told me that he was going to collect a set off Frank, who had hidden them somewhere, and the two of them were due to meet. Later that day, Ray said that he needed to see me; he had met up with Frank, who had spotted a particular car that morning on the way to meeting Ray. Frank had no doubt that it was a surveillance car, and was ‘downing tools’ as he didn’t want to risk trading any more. He was shutting up shop as he thought the heat was on him.
To any criminal this was sensible behaviour – standard practice – but it certainly didn’t help my situation and it was a major blow to Dave and the team; they had not had any luck with this side of the investigation. But the fact was, you had to play with the cards you’d been dealt. I would continue my day-to-day activities with Ray, and bide my time until another opportunity came up with Frank. I knew that the overall investigation had been a huge success, and Emma had made huge inroads into local acquisitive crime. She had purchased the majority of stolen property in the area and gained first-class evidence against burglars, robbers and thieves. She couldn’t have done any more. Meanwhile, I had identified many multi-kilo, class A drug dealers from the area and had bought considerable amounts of powder from them.
The job was coming to a natural conclusion, and Dave had told me that the bosses were more than pleased with what had been achieved. However, to me, Frank was unfinished business. If I’d known that I only had one opportunity with him, I would have conducted the trade myself. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but perhaps I should have seized the moment. Because he was ex–Old Bill, I had acted completely differently than if he’d just been another dealer. Perhaps that had been a huge mistake. I would have to wait and see.
Forty
I was making a rare visit back to the small and dingy room at the police headquarters that acted as the official office for the special operations unit. I very rarely attended unless I really had to. It was normally only if I had a specific task to complete or a meeting that needed to take place on police premises. As usual, I snuck up the back stairs and quietly let myself into the key-code security door. I was relieved to find there was no one there, which meant I could get done what I needed to do, and disappear as quickly as possible.
There were four desks in the room, and each of them had a rack of grey plastic trays neatly placed on the corner. There was a whiteboard on the wall, with exactly the same writing on as the last time I’d visited. The most attractive feature of the office was the original set of sash windows, which allowed a draft to naturally cool the room. There was no evidence of me belonging here; you would not find my name anywhere.
I eventually remembered my log-in details for the police computer. I found computers tedious; I could only type with one finger, and my ignorant technical mind had hoped that computers would never catch on. I could think of nothing worse than having a job where you had to look at a computer screen for eight hours. But for the next hour, I had no choice.
As I sat there smashing the keyboard with the middle finger of my right hand, the phone on the desk in front of me rang. Without really thinking, I picked it up. Unfortunately, I never answered the telephone in the corporate way, by identifying who I was and asking how I could help. Instead it was the standard hello.
The voice on the other end paused and said, ‘Hello, Joe, we know it’s you.’ The caller then hung up. The voice was that of a male from the south-east, I would guess aged between thirty and fifty and probably white. There had been no threat in the voice, but someone was making it clear that they knew I was Joe and they knew I worked from the special operations office.
I had always been acutely aware that the greatest threat to my safety and that of my family was from within. I knew from experience that loyalty from colleagues was thin on the ground these days, and I trusted no one. For someone to know that I was in that office, at that particular time, it was either the biggest miracle in the world or something much more sinister.
Whatever the truth was, I knew that I was not going to tell a single person about this. I was going to keep my cards close to my chest. The one thing I did know was that I had to be even more vigilant in what I did and who I told.
I left the office within minutes of receiving the call and slipped quietly down the back stairs, wishing that I’d never made the visit in the first place. Undercover work was often a very lonely existence, but now I knew that I was completely on my own.
Forty-one
I sat in the coffee shop just off the bustle of Victoria Street, sipping my latte with the statutory extra shot. I was wearing a flat cap and sunglasses, and had positioned myself at a corner table with my back to the wall, ensuring that I could see every face that entered to buy their morning hit of caffeine or their pain au chocolate. It was still only 8.15, and at 10.30 I was due to meet Pino for the first time. We had been talking on the phone for a number of weeks now, though – what with one thing and another – we hadn’t had a face-to-face meeting yet. But Pino had promised me the world on the phone, in his broken English that was easy to understand even with his strong Colombian accent.
I was there early because I was waiting for Big Tel to come and bring me some money for today’s meeting. Tel had asked me to do this piece of work, and was acting as my cover officer whilst I was deployed. A big man, both in stature and in personality, he was one of the good guys. He was a real character, who could tell a story and hold your attention. And he was someone that people naturally warmed to. These were all skills you couldn’t teach, qualities you wouldn’t get from a textbook – and in the undercover world, these talents were like gold dust.
As I was chuckling to myself about one of the incidents that had happened last time I saw Tel, the door of the café was swung open with such gusto that it hit the chair of a young female commuter. She was sat eating her granola and yogurt, wearing gleaming Nike trainers with her black pencil skirt and crisp white Ralph Lauren blouse. She was startled, and she received an apology from the overenthusiastic customer. I had to do a double take but I recognised him as one of my old team. It was Northern Dave, a really lovely kid who I hadn’t seen for about five years. Last I’d heard, he had left the UC world to do some work as a supervisor. It was great to see him, and as usual he had a huge smile on his face.
I eyed him as I held him at arm’s length, like a granddad does when he’s looking at a relative he hasn’t seen for many years. ‘Well look at you, Dave, you look great.’ And for once I meant it. So often you say those three words when in fact you think the complete opposite – you think they look terrible and life hasn’t been kind to them.
Before I could say any more, he pulled out the front of his River Island stretch jeans, and in his broad Manchester accent said, ‘I’m Slimming World’s biggest loser for the last two months.’ He was really proud of his achievement, and in the time we hadn’t seen each other I’d probably put on the ‘timber’ that Dave had lost. This fact wasn’t lost on him, and I let him have his five minutes of gloating and baiting. It was really good to see him.
He gave me £2,000, and we nattered and gossiped for well over an hour without realising how quickly time had flown. We hadn’t spoken a single word about today’s operation. When I looked at my watch, I told him I had better get going. He shook my hand in a formal manner, but I pulled him in for a hug and a squeeze. Dave always liked to have the last word, and before he left he said to me what I had said to him and so many other UCs over the years: ‘Whatever you do, don’t fuck this up.’ We both chuckled lik
e schoolboys, and I watched him disappear amongst the hordes that were scuttling to their offices on Victoria Street.
I paid the bill and started to stroll towards Pimlico, where I was going to meet Pino. It was a lovely day, so I took the back roads near the cathedral and looked at all the mansion apartments and beautiful character buildings that made London so unique. I was only minutes from Victoria Station, yet these streets were so peaceful and calming. I wondered to myself what Pino looked like, and pictured in my head a large fifty-year-old man with a monk-type hairstyle, who chain-smoked and would be breathless should he have to ascend a flight of stairs. He would have big hands and deep dark eyes that watched your every move.
My imagination was interrupted by the vibration and shrill sound of my phone ringing. It spoilt the tranquillity of the moment. I glanced at the screen and saw Pino’s name. Before I could say hello, he demanded, ‘Where are you?’
‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll have a latte with an extra shot.’ I cut the call off without telling him what he wanted to know. I sensed apprehension in his voice, not the confident manner he had displayed when he’d bragged to me on previous calls, telling me that his cocaine was the best around at the moment, that the supply was regular and that I wouldn’t be disappointed.
Over the years, I’d had conversations like this too many times to remember. Men who bigged themselves up in order to lure you into buying their product. It was often the case that they didn’t know their product as well as they made out. Sometimes it was a fact that they had bought the gear from someone who had convinced them the quality was high-end, when in fact it was merely ‘pub grub’. I’d soon find out whether Pino was full of shit or the real McCoy.
